After Sundown
by Psychic1515
Summary: AU story set after "Something Wicked". Richie finds himself stuck in a small town in Western Europe. He runs into Methos, who is the only survivor of the town's horrible past, and now he must help Richie get out of town before it's too late.
1. Default Chapter

After Sundown

September, 1996

Richie had left Paris and had now gotten himself into a fine mess on the road. He'd been driving through town since the previous night and had no idea what town he was in now. All he knew was he had managed to get somewhere in Western Europe. He'd left France months ago, shortly after Duncan had attempted to take his head while under the influence of the Dark Quickening. How Richie remembered Duncan as he prepared to take his head, how he laughed at Richie's defeat, and the fear that built up in Richie the split second before Duncan was shot. That was the worst day of his life. Now, Richie thought, as he took off his helmet to get a look at his current surroundings, and searching for something to tell him just where he'd gotten but to no avail, this day wasn't much better.

"Ah Hell," Richie spat, "I'll find someone to ask."

Richie put his helmet back on, started up his bike again, and continued driving. He didn't stop until he came across a bar, the Crossfire. He went in and saw it was practically empty, but as far as he recalled, the real action didn't get started in bars until night. A blonde bartender in a red tank top came around from the back room and waltzed behind the counter, "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yeah," Richie gasped, "get me a beer."

Richie dropped in a chair in the middle of the room as he tried to catch his breath. For some time, he'd been having extreme difficulties breathing. Although the cause for it vexed Richie, he didn't have any allergies, he could breathe just fine while wearing his helmet.

As Richie engrossed himself in deep inhaling and exhaling, the bartender came back around with a mug of beer on a tray. When she saw him over at a table, she walked over and seated herself just by him.

"Damn, guy, you look like you could use a whole keg, what the hell happened to you?" she asked.

Richie took the mug and downed most of it in one gulp, he placed the mug back on the tray and said, "I have no idea...I...I've been on the road for about 18 hours now and...out of nowhere, I just......I'm not feeling so hot."

The lady planted a hand on his forehead, Richie couldn't believe it, 23 years old and he still had people checking to see if he had a temperature.

"I'm not surprised, you're in a cold sweat, and you're fucking flushed, have you seen a doctor?" she asked.

Oh yeah, what was Richie going to say? "No, I haven't had a doctor examine me since I died"? Not likely.

"Actually, I don't even know what damn town I'm in, so screw seeing a doctor on such short notice, huh?" Richie nervously laughed.

"You're not from around here?" the woman asked, sounding partly in disbelief.

"Actually, I left Paris some time ago and I...just haven't really stopped anywhere," Richie said.

"I don't believe it," the lady scoffed, "a nice looking man like you, not from around here?"

"Why? Where am I?" Richie asked.

"Sweetie, you are in Levingston, one of the more populated, well socialized, small towns of Europe. Don't get me wrong, the town's great, the people are too, but the town's so small, there's only about 2,987 of us here," she said.

"Funny, I've never heard of this place," Richie said.

"Well that's because it's so small, you won't find it on any map, just like those Amish towns in Illinois," she said.

"That a fact?" Richie asked, "Can you tell me how to get out of this town?"

"Well, you go down that road," the waitress pointed out the window to the road which he had been on, "for about another seven miles...then you're gonna come into another small town, Victor, that has about 1,800 people...You go ahead two miles and boom, you're out of Europe."

"Wonderful, I'm looking to get out of here soon," Richie said.

"Uh, look, I'm gonna recommend you see my doctor," the lady reached down into her jeans and pulled out a business card, "here's his card, I assure you he's no quack."

Richie looked at the lady, then down at the business card:

Doctor Van Leeway

3165 Levingston Boulevard #2

Levingston, Europe 66932

Eh, what the hell? Richie thought as he shoved the card in his pocket, "How much for the drink?"

"'S on the house," the lady said, "We got a thing here at the Crossfire, every 10th customer we get in the afternoon gets a free drink."

"I'll have to remember that if I ever come around here again, thanks for your help..." Richie extended his arm to shake hands with the waitress.

"Roxanne Bedouin" she replied as she grasped his hand and shook it.

"I think I'll go see this guy and see if he can help me," Richie nodded as they both placed their arms at their sides again.

"Well good, good," Roxanne said, "so maybe I'll see you another time?"

"Maybe," Richie said as he managed to crack a smile.

Richie had gone to the doctor's office and gone through the regular procedure, first he had to wait before the doctor would see him. The wait took longer than expected.

What's keeping him? Richie thought, getting impatient in a hurry. They say time heals everything; I've been here so fricking long, my mysterious illness has cured itself.

Taking that into consideration, Richie stood up and said barely audible as he headed towards the exit, "I may as well just get back on my bike and get my ass..."

"Dr. Leeway will see you now," the nurse at the desk said.

"Into yet another backless gown and hope I don't freeze it off so I have to go through the rest of my days ass-less," Richie said to himself as he headed the opposite direction over to the exam room.

He spent the next hour getting poked, prodded, putted, asked embarrassing questions, catching a draft in the most unfitting places, and finally, he was sitting on the exam table awaiting the obvious results.

"Well, you seem to be in excellent condition, I can't find anything wrong with you," Dr. Leeway explained, "have you been getting any sleep lately?"

"Not really, no," Richie said.

"Well then." Dr. Leeway scribbled down something on a piece of paper and tore it off the pad, "I want you to take this prescription down to the drugstore, and that should be enough pills to put out an elephant for month, so be careful with them. Just take two when you get home, then when you wake up, take two more, you need to get your rest."

"Then what?" Richie asked.

"Well, after that, if you don't get enough sleep tomorrow night, take two pills...but be careful, don't overload on them," Dr. Leeway said.

"Wonderful," Richie sighed, "can I get dressed now?"

"Yes you may, your clothes are right where you left them," he replied, "I'll leave you in private."

"Thank you, doctor," Richie grumbled to himself.

Richie waited until the doctor was gone, then he slipped out of the gown and began dressing himself. Right about now, sleep sounded good to him, he hadn't gotten any real sleep in the last few weeks. Every night he tried, he was haunted by memories of Duncan, circling him, grinning, ready to kill him, his own student! After that he would go several days without sleep, then he'd get by on two or three hours before he remembered Duncan, then he'd go days without again. Then it got worse, first he went a week without sleep, then 12 days, then several weeks on end. Maybe he would get lucky and the pills would be hard-core drugs that would just knock him out, and bring sleep with no dreams. He could only hope. He didn't want to remember what happened. He didn't want to remember Duncan.

By the time Richie had gotten out of the drug store, it was already dark. So, he decided to go ahead the seven miles and get out of town. However, it didn't quite work out that way. No more than two miles from the office, the road started getting bumpy, and Richie got thrown off and hit his head against a street sign pole. After moaning in agony for a few minutes, Richie pulled himself together and managed to get himself up on his feet. However, he soon found out his bike wasn't totaled in the crash, but he couldn't get it started to save his life. By now most garages would probably be closed, Richie figured. Then, he looked down the next block and saw his opportunity of what to do for the night. He saw a large lit sign reading Blue Moon Hotel.

Seeing this as the best offer he'd had for the day, Richie hauled his bike down the next block, and decided to check in for the night. Walking into the lobby, he was stunned at the sight of a tall, blonde woman in a blue top and black skirt, working behind the front desk, so he went over to her and said, "Excuse me, I'd like a room for the night."

The woman turned around, Richie was amazed by her beauty, she had sparkling blue eyes and an angelic face and ruby red lips.

"How many beds?" she asked.

"Huh?" Richie asked, returning to reality.

"Would you like a room with one bed or two?" the woman rephrased.

"One," he said.

"I.D.?"

Richie took out his wallet and showed her his I.D.

"Richard Ryan," the lady read, "I don't believe I've seen you before."

"Well you wouldn't, I'm not from here, I was passing through town and I...never mind, I don't want to bore you with long, tedious stories about my 'exciting' life," Richie said.

"Okay, well I'm not exactly sure how they run hotels where you're from, but here, the customers are required to fill out some forms before they can check them in," the lady said.

She bent down behind the desk and handed Richie a clipboard with the forms attached.

"No problem."

Richie took the clipboard, and a pen from the desk, and plopped down on the leather couch over by the wall. He basically lied through his teeth about everything except for his name and a few other things, then he handed the forms back to the lady. She observed them for a minute while Richie waited.

"Allright, did you have any certain room in mind?" she asked.

"Oh...I'm not really..."

"I'm sorry, I forgot, you've never been here...well, we try to give our customers the best here at the Blue Moon...in fact," the lady turned around and took a key off the wall, "Room 165 should be suiting for you. If you have any complaints, just let us know, we're only too happy to serve."

Richie took the key and nodded as he said, "thanks."

Richie started to walk off, but he turned around and headed back to the desk.

"What's your name?"

"Carolyn Lull."

"I'll remember that."

Richie found his room to be more than he bargained for: velvet curtains, crystal lights, a hard marble floor, a fully stocked mini-bar, a king sized bed with perfectly white sheets, and in the bathroom was a wine colored marble tub with a built in shower, a wide wine colored sink on a large emerald green fiber glass counter, and practically everything you find in a first aid kid stocked in the cupboard beside the wash cloths.

"Band-aids, ointments, burn creams, rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, Q-tips, hydrogen peroxide, antibacterial cream...well, they should be happy to know they won't have to restock when I leave," Richie laughed to himself as he headed back to his bedroom.

Richie drew back the red velvet curtains and saw he had quite a view from the balcony, so he stepped outside and looked around. For a small town, it sure looked wealthy; theatres, 5-star restaurants, casinos. He had a difficult time believing that this town could be as small as the lady at the bar said. The only thing to show in the last small town he was in was a museum the size of a regular two-story house, and a library across that street that could match the museum in size. Richie headed back into his room, closed the glass sliding door, and drew the curtains.

Richie plopped down on the bed and realized he hadn't noticed just how tired he was. This was beyond simple tired, this was exhaustion. Richie figured now would be a good time to take the pills get some sleep, he went over to the phone and dialed the front desk.

"_Yes Mister Ryan?"_

"Hello Carolyn, I'd like to have some water brought up to my room."

"_There should be already...we always leave a large pitcher full in every room."_

"Hold on a minute."

Richie looked around the room and saw the glass pitcher of ice water on a silver tray, resting on the table.

"Oh...I'm sorry, I didn't see it."

"_That's quite allright, is there anything else you need?"_

"Not at the moment," he said.

"_Well if you do need anything, you just let us know."_

"I will."

Richie hung up the phone, went over to the table and poured himself a glass of water. He took out the sleeping pills, and downed them. However, he didn't just take two, he didn't want the drugs to wear off anytime soon, so he took a dozen of them. He put the bottle on the table and went over to his bed. He was so tired he hardly noticed the bottle rolling off the table. He was too exhausted to worry about that just now. When he was certain he couldn't keep awake any longer, he rested his head against the pillows, turned on his side and slowly drifted into sleep. For a few hours, he didn't even move, he was practically dead to world, not even noticing the buzz coming from down in the street.

"Bloody hell," Methos said as he slammed the door on his jeep.

A fine time for it to die, in this town, he absolutely hated coming to Levingston, he didn't care how nice or intriguing it appeared to be. He liked to avoid the town at all costs when possible.

He and Duncan had gotten into a fight with one another, and after almost killing each other and practically destroying the barge, Methos decided it was best to be abroad until Duncan's temper calmed down.

Now here he was stuck in one of the worst parts of Western Europe, and if that weren't bad enough, he could feel the buzz of another Immortal in a room in the hotel right in front of him. As Methos turned around, he noticed something at the end of the block. Richie's motorcycle, he recognized that thing anywhere.

"Well, looks like I've got two heads to keep intact tonight," he thought.

Methos took his bags out of the back of the jeep and went in, biting his tongue until he reached the front desk.

Working behind it was a tall woman with reddish-brown hair in a red silk blouse and a black skirt, seeming in her 40s.

"Welcome to the Blue Moon hotel, may I help you, sir?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm Adam Pierson, I'd like a room for the night," he said.

After filling out the forms, Methos took his bags up to the next floor, and noticed the buzz from across the hall. First he put his bags in his room, then he headed over to Richie's room. He grabbed the doorknob and expected it to be locked, but the minute he turned it, the door opened. Methos walked in and was shocked by the sight of Richie on the bed, writhing and moaning in his sleep, acting as if someone had bound and gagged him. Methos walked over to the bed just as Richie started screaming in fear, and Methos was worried that he knew the answer as to why.

Methos got on the bed and grabbed Richie as he started shaking and writhing on the bed, it was difficult to keep a good hold on him, but Methos managed to. It then occurred to him what he needed to do to get Richie to wake up and calm down. He started shaking Richie's body, much more than he would've just done in his sleep. Richie slowly woke up and when he saw Methos holding him, he screamed. Methos, confused by the noise, let go of Richie as he backed up against the head of the bed.

"Adam!" Richie screamed in almost disbelief.

Richie began gasping for air, and Methos figured if given the chance, Richie would react violently. Methos placed his hands on Richie's shoulders to prevent him from doing anything drastic. He looked the youth in the eyes and said, "Relax kid, it's just me."

Richie's breathing rate calmed down and he grumbled something to himself, holding one hand over his eye as his fingers rested against his forehead, then he turned to Methos and said, "Where's Mac? Is he with you?!"

Methos was shocked by what he saw, Richie, the lively, energetic, flirtatious young man he met months ago, was now afraid and confused...

And upset, as Richie spoke to him just a minute ago, he looked as if he were ready to cry. Methos knew where Richie was getting by asking about Duncan, "No, I'm here alone," he assured the boy, "You don't need to worry about that."

"I'm sorry, it's just.....and he.........I.......he..." Richie sighed as tears rolled down his face, "he tried to kill me, Adam....he tried to kill me! Did you know that?"

"Yes I did, I'm sorry...but Richie, you are not the only one who suffered through that, he tried to kill me too, Sean Burns is dead, a woman led to believe her husband left her, and now both of them remember the man who tried to kill them...And MacLeod himself has suffered because of what he remembers while he was influenced by the Dark Quickening."

"Yeah right," Richie spat.

"Richie..."

"He tried to kill me before that, did you know that?!" Richie asked, "He said he was probably going crazy, damn near took my head again!"

"Richie!" Methos said as he tightened his grip on the boy, "You cannot believe that MacLeod would do anything to intentionally hurt you."

"Oh no?" Richie asked, "I talked to him, I asked him when he damn near killed me why teachers kill their students....because there can be only one in the end...I knew Mac killed some guys he never knew but............I didn't know he'd try and kill me."

Methos held the boy close and let him sob into his chest as he tried to talk, "the odds of me surviving the game aren't good...he already knew that! After I left...I figured, that must be why he came after me."

"Richie," Methos said in the most soothing tone he had, "he didn't know what he was doing, he couldn't control it...you have to know that..."

"Oh?" Richie looked up at Methos, "How? How am I supposed to believe that after what he did to me? How am I supposed to believe that this wasn't any of his doing, that it wasn't really Duncan MacLeod doing it?"

"He tried to kill me in a church while he was under the power of the Dark Quickening, every Immortal knows the Rules, no fighting on Holy Ground is one of them. You know that, every Immortal knows that, and they have to go by the Rules," Methos told him.

Methos had neglected to mention that he'd known in his time quite a few Immortals who broke the Rules, but he figured the kid didn't need to know that now. Not as vulnerable and distrusting as he was now.

"Adam, how am I going to believe that Mac is what he says he is? He's 400 years old, he's been around since before anybody I know has been born, how can I trust him when he says he is what he is? How do I know it's not just an act? I mean...how do I know he's not an Immortal like Slan Quince, or someone like that?"

"For Immortals, it's usually very hard to be sure about it," Methos said, "For their Watchers however, it's another story...they know everything about MacLeod. If he was anything like what you think he is, they would've said something before now."

"Yeah, sure, but what about the Watcher's code? Never interfere? Remember that? How would I know anything about Mac then?"

"Remember Joe Dawson?" Methos asked, "He didn't exactly follow the code, it also says Immortals aren't supposed to know Watchers even exist. Trust me, he wouldn't even bother getting acquainted with MacLeod if he was like that."

Richie didn't know what to say, and instead looked away from Methos and said nothing. He was embarrassed, he felt like an idiot, and he also felt like he was allowing himself to get suckered into something.

"Richie," Methos said, "I came to Europe because we got in a fight and could not stand to even speak to one another...before that, all he talked about was how horrible he felt when he acknowledged the fact that he nearly killed you. Now, I'm a bit older than you could ever think, in my time, I've come to know when people feign emotional distress...believe me kid, he wasn't acting when I was staying with him."

"What did you two fight about?" Richie asked.

"Well I was staying with him on the barge, and he just got tired of having me around, he complained I always went to him when I couldn't stay anywhere else...but for the most of it, I just strung him along, I wanted to see how angry I could get him before he started ripping out his hair," Methos said.

Richie made a sound that Methos recognized as either a laugh, or a choked back sob. His intention was to get the youth's mind off his emotional problems.

"I'm glad I ran into you in this town, Adam," Richie said.

Wish I could say the same, Methos thought.

However, he kept that opinion to himself and managed to work a slight smile onto his face, "So am I."

Methos saw tears well up in Richie's eyes, and the boy buried his face into Methos' chest and cried silently. He'd gotten over his nightmare, but the kindness Adam displayed was overwhelming to him, and he was too embarrassed to say anything about it.

Methos, taking pity on the boy, held him closer and rubbed his back to sooth him. He wasn't sure how he'd be since his last encounter with Duncan. He knew Richie probably wouldn't be quite back to his old self, but this was worse than he imagined.

Richie said something with his mouth against Methos' chest, muffling the translation.

"What?" Methos asked.

Richie pulled his head out from Methos' chest and said, "I feel awful."

Methos knew what he meant by that, he'd been in that position a few times too many, he laid Richie's body down on the bed and got up.

"Where're you going?" Richie asked.

"To fix you a drink, this hotel includes a bar in each room, right?" he asked.

Richie didn't say anything in response, he just groaned and turned on his side.

Methos filled in a glass a mixture of sweet and sour scotch, a margarita, and some champagne. He took the glass back over to the bed and handed it to Richie, "Drink this, it'll help you relax."

Richie down the glass in one gulp, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and said, "Adam, this isn't helping me relax, it's making me want to belch."

"Just lie down, it needs a few minutes to take effect," Methos told him.

Methos stayed over at the bar watching Richie, until he was sure he was asleep. Methos went over to the bed, picked Richie's body up and carried him over to his room and laid him down on one of the beds. He headed back into Richie's room to get his things, while he was getting everything together, he came across a pill bottle on the floor. He popped the cap and counted the pills, he looked up the number of the doctor who prescribed them and decided to give him a call.

"_Hello?"_

"Dr. Van Leeway?"

"_Yes, who is this?"_

"Did you prescribe a bottle of pills to Richard Ryan today?"

"_Yes, why?"_

"Oh...I'm his uncle, I came into town to see him, and I just now found the bottle, tell me, how many pills are supposed to be in here?"

"_Twenty-four."_

"There's twelve in here now," Methos said.

"_You better get him to a hospital, those pills are lethal if he takes more than two at a time."_

"No, no, no, that won't be necessary I don't think...you see I found the bottle with the lid off right beside an air vent, they probably rolled down into the basement...I'm going to go talk to him, thank you doctor."

Methos hung up the phone and mentally kicked himself for that drink. Any bloody fool knew that sleeping pills, and alcoholic beverages, both to that extent, were not to mix.

Methos remembered what Richie had said earlier: I'm glad I ran into you in this town, Adam. Methos was glad to see Richie too, but he dreaded it being in this town. Surely Richie must've heard something about Levingston, or had he? Richie still lacked a lot of geographical knowledge for this day and age, especially in small places like this, so he probably wouldn't know. But if he'd known the bloody truth about this town, he wouldn't have come, even by accident.

Methos' heart jumped into his throat when he heard someone calling Richie's name. It was a female voice, coming from the other side of the hall. _Right outside Richie's room!_

Methos opened his door and headed over to the blonde woman, who was gently tapping on his door.

"Looking for someone?" Methos asked.

The woman turned around and faced him, "Yes, I do believe Mister Ryan just called about a complaint with the room."

"That can't be," Methos said, "he's staying in my room."

"Oh Good Lord," she said, "We must have a crank caller in this hotel somewhere."

"Well I know it can't be my nephew, I've been with him for about an hour now, and I can assure you he never picked up any phone...I'm in town visiting him, and I have not seen him since his high school graduation, so we just have so much to catch up on, and I figured since it was getting late, since I have two beds in my room, that he'd stay the night in there," Adam said, "you know, superstitious relatives and all that."

"Ah, I see, well, I'm going to have to see just who it was who rang the front desk, good evening Mister Pierson," Carolyn said.

Carolyn headed back downstairs and Methos headed back into his room, locked and bolted the door, he looked back at Richie who was sleeping, and said, "Congratulations, kid, I just saved your life for the first time in Levingston. God knows it won't be the last time either."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

So now Methos had found Richie, and saved his neck for once tonight, he figured he better give Duncan a call and let him know he found his precious brat.

As Methos grabbed the receiver of the phone, he remembered what Richie had said to him. The last thing he would want would be for Duncan to know of his whereabouts. After a short debate with himself, he ruled that he was not going to call Duncan. He would call Joe. Joe knew to keep his mouth shut at the right time.

Methos dialed Joe's number and heard the phone ring once, twice, three times. Methos tilted his head to the side and closed his eyes as he thought, I could fall asleep just waiting on you, Joe. Matter of fact, that doesn't sound half bad

Methos heard Joe pick up the receiver and opened his eyes again.

"_Hello?"_

"Joe."

"_Methos? What's going on?"_

"I'm in Western Europe, and you won't believe who I've run into," he said.

"_Let me guess - Steven Tyler?"_

"Richieâwe're staying at the Blue Moon Hotel in Levingston," Methos said.

"_Well why not call Mac and - wait - **both** of you are staying at this hotel?"_

"Joe! For God's sake, get your head out of the gutter, this is serious!" Methos exclaimed.

"Well why not call Mac and let him know that you found -" 

"I won't do that, Joe, I can't do that - if you saw Richie tonight, you'd know why."

"What's wrong with him?" 

"It would seem since he left town he hasn't been able to get his mind off of what happened with Duncan and the Dark Quickening. I thought I'd check with you and see if there's anything new about him I should know about," Methos said.

"I was regretting having to say thisâseems there's a trail of dead Immortals in every location Richie had gone through since he left. Twelve Immortals in one month - He's just picking fights as he goes from one town to the next, if he keeps this up, he's liable to get killed - I don't know what's gotten into him."

"I do - he thinks MacLeod tried to kill him because of the Game - now he's making it so he's not an easy target anymore, he'll kill everyone he comes across - so if he sees MacLeod again – well - I don't exactly need to draw you a picture on that one, now do I?"

"No, I suppose not."

"I better go now, and don't repeat a word of this to MacLeod. He's one thing Richie doesn't want to have to worry about at this time. That's one promise I don't want to break when he comes to."

"Comes to? What's wrong with him?" 

"Genius here got a prescription for some lethal sleeping pills and took six times the dosage - before he allowed me to fix him a drink without saying one word about them," Methos explained, "as if there wasn't enough to worry about here."

"Why? What's wrong?" 

"Didn't I ever tell you about this place? A few years ago, I was here and had to stay the night - well, 13 people were murdered in cold blood, I almost joined them - and that wasn't the first time either - the people here aren't normal, Joe - it's a brutal death to any unsuspecting idiot who stays in town after dark."

"Well then you better keep an eye on that kid before something does happen!" 

"Don't worry, I've got him in my room, just saved his head for the first time tonight," Methos said, "and unless we get out of here by tomorrow, it won't be the last time either."

"Well, you better find a way to get out of there soon - the last thing we need are two additional deaths in our records."

"Yeah."

Methos hung up before giving Joe a chance to say anything else. He knew all he needed to know for the moment, and first thing tomorrow, he would get to the bottom of this whole mess.

In Richie's subconscious mind, he had so many things racing through his head; his first meeting with Duncan, Slan Quince, Tessa, Seacouver, the Watchers, his mortal death, Donna and Jeremy, Kenny, the racing accident, Kristen, the Dark Quickening, AdamâIt was then that Richie remembered he was with Adam.

Immediately he raised his eyelids all too quick, and immediately regretted it as he found himself staring into the sunlight. Then, he saw Adam standing in front of him, and appearing cranky from a lack of sleep.

"Adam?"

"Are you allright, Richie?" he asked.

"Well - I'm seeing red spots in front of the five of you," Richie laughed as he rubbed his eyes momentarily, "Seriously - what's going on?"

Richie heard the rattle of a pill bottle; he removed his hand from his eyes and saw Adam holding the bottle in front of him.

"Oh - shit," Richie groaned as he rolled on his side.

"Why didn't you tell me about the pills?" he asked.

"I forgot - Adam, for the last few weeks, it's been crazy, I've had so much going through my mind, I'm hardly able to think straight, so some doctor suggested I take those pills to get some sleep, I thought it was worth a try," Richie said.

"But taking six times the regular dosage? Richie, how _stupid_ can you be? First the pills, and then that drink - why didn't you say anything then? You should know by now that narcotics and alcohol don't mix!" Adam said.

"Adam - I know we've already gone through this, but if what happened to me happened to you, and you were to the point you could not think straight because of it, you would go to any means necessary to forget it too," Richie said.

"Richie, I don't believe you," Adam said, "Richieâdo you even know where you are?"

"Levingston, some small town in Europe, so what about it?" Richie asked.

"Do you have any idea what goes on here?" Adam asked.

Richie lay in bed for a minute and looked down at the floor as he thought, then when he reached an answer, he looked back up at Methos and said, "Cheap alcohol and hookers?"

"Richie! Be serious - do you have any idea what's gone on in this town?" Methos asked as he seated himself at the foot of the bed to get a better view of Richie eye to eye.

"I'll take it it's not known for its luxuries," Richie said.

"That's what draws suckers in to this town," Methos told him, "they come in for a good time one day, the next morning, they're gone"

"You mean they disappeared," Richie thought.

"No, I mean they have been murdered - died a merciless death"

"Adam, it's no problem, I'm Immortal, remember?" Richie asked.

"That is exactly the point, Richie, staying in this town after sundown is like listing all the ways you can die to a hit man - don't you get it? Staying in this town after dark is ridiculous, its suicide is what it is!"

"Adam, are you serious?" Richie asked.

"As a heart attack! I've been here before, I've seen what goes on here - twice I've had to spend the night in this town, and both times I nearly lost my head to someone."

"They got Immortals coming through here on a regular basis?" Richie asked.

"It's not Immortals, Richie, at least not our kind - the people who have stayed the night in this town have been found with their hearts mutilated, their throats slashed, some were decapitated, sometimes their throats have been cut to certain extremes, the only thing keeping their heads attached to their bodies are a few strings of skinâRichie, is that what you want to happen to you!?"

"Adam, you can't be serious - if that kind of stuff happened to everyone who came here, the whole town would've been exposed to the newspapers and everyone long ago," Richie said.

"Not this town," Methos said, "that's why it's so small, nobody thinks to do research on a small town like this."

"But -"

"And for your information, it is not everyone who comes here who ends up dead, it's everybody who stays after sundown," Methos told him.

Richie sighed and threw the sheets off as he made his way out of the bed.

"Richie -"

"What?"

"Joe tells me that you've been quite the headhunter lately - and the way you do it is going to get you killed," Methos said.

"What business is it of yours?" Richie asked.

"None, really - I just thoughtâbeing a friend and all - maybe it _would_ be my business to find out before it's too late," Methos said.

"Hey, I'm just doing what it takes to survive, that's what I learned from Mac, we exist to kill other Immortals, and after what happened with him, I'm taking no chances," Richie told him.

"So you intend to just kill off every Immortal you come by?" Methos asked.

"Pretty much," he responded.

"I'm an Immortal, Richie," he said, "are you going to kill me?"

Richie stopped in his tracks and turned back around. "Aw come on, that's not fair, Adam, you're you, I know you -"

"Do you?" he asked.

"Well I – well -"

"And Amanda, and Connor? You don't know them as well as you do MacLeod, yet you trust them -"

"I thought we were through discussing this," Richie snapped.

"We have not discussed anything yet," Methos said as he stood up, "this is just looking at the facts."

"Look - maybe Mac is who he says he is, and maybe he isn't, all I know is until the time is right, I don't even want to see that bastard," Richie told him, "I don't even want to talk about him!"

Methos looked at Richie for a minute saying nothing, taking what the boy had just said, into consideration, and finally, he reached a conclusion. "Fine, it's whatever you want to do, kid - you don't want to talk about MacLeod, we don't need to talk about MacLeod -right now I suggest we concentrate on getting out of Levingston, while we're still alive."

"I can't, that's why I'm here - my bike broke down last night, it was too late to take it to any garage, what about you?" Richie asked.

"My jeep decided to wait until I got to my least favorite part of the world, and then it chose to die," Methos said, "I'll tell you what - you go get cleaned up and -"

"Why?"

"Because you smell like a raw halibut," Methos replied, "I'll phone a tow truck and get both your deathtrap and my jeep looked at at the same time."

As Methos headed for the door, he heard Richie say, "Adam!"

Methos stopped and turned back around.

"Can we really trust these guys to do that?" Richie asked.

"Trust me kid, you don't have much too worry about in the daytime here," Methos assured him.

"A broken down motorcycle and a broken down truck on the same street? You guys into some demolition derby or something?" the mechanic at the garage asked.

"No, we just both know cheap salesmen," Methos replied, "we're in a bit of a hurry, can you fix them or not?"

"Don't know, never heard of anything breaking down for no reason, but I'll give it a shot," the mechanic said, right before he broke out in hiccups.

"I think you should lay off the shots," Methos told him, "Just tell me, can we be expected to have them ready before tonight?"

"Don't see why not, hiccup , why? You hiccup in a hurry?" he asked.

"Yes," Methos said, "I left my bathtub running back in Arizona, if I don't get back soon, it'll sail down here and meet me before I can head home," Methos said.

"Problems at home, ay?" the mechanic asked.

"More than you know," Methos answered.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do, come back at around - 3 o' clock, they should be done by then," he replied, "I would have it done sooner, except."

"Don't tell me," Methos interrupted, "the circus is in town, and five clowns need you to fix their little wind-up car for the show tonight?"

"No, I got a guy bringing in a 1977 Firebird that needs a repair more than the driver. He was in a drag race last night and now he's in the hospital, banged up, scraped up, fucked up, you name it - why don't these damn kids ever learn?" he asked.

"Wish I knew," Methos said.

Methos caught a ride on the side of a bus for a few blocks until he reached the street of the Blue Moon Hotel, then he jumped off, fell on the ground, dusted himself off and headed back in.

He opened the door to their room and saw that Richie was still in the shower. Methos went into the bathroom and drew back the curtain to see Richie lying in a tub full of cold water, which was still flowing from the showerhead, crying silently. Methos shut off the water, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Richie's lower body as he helped him out of the tub. Richie clung to Methos, digging his nails into the Old Man's shoulder blades as he cried into his chest. Methos slipped an arm around Richie's back, supporting his weight as he led the boy to the bedroom, and laid him down on one of the beds. However, he soon found out that Richie wasn't going to let go, so he shifted his weight around so Richie was laying on top of him, still with his face buried in Methos' chest as he held the boy and stroked his head gently. Eventually, Richie calmed down and appeared to have worn himself out from crying.

"I'm sorry," the boy quietly said as he buried his face deeper into Methos' chest.

"What happened, Richie?" he asked.

Richie's voice was muffled, but Methos heard him say, "he was here."

Methos' heart jumped into his throat, surely he'd heard wrong, he wanted to have just misunderstood Richie, but even though he knew the answer, he asked, "What?"

Richie backed up off of Methos' body and onto the other side of the bed and repeated, "He was here, Adam - he was here, I saw him - I know it sounds crazy, but you've got to believe me, I'm telling the truth, I saw him, Mac was here! I don't know how, one minute I couldn't sense anything, and the next, it was like he just dropped from the next floor - he knocked me on the floor, he was taunting me, circling me, he was smiling at my torment, AGAIN! After that, I don't know what happened," Richie said as he made his way off the bed.

"Are you sure he was here?" Methos asked, half wanting it to be a relapse in the boy's mind.

"I know Mac when I see him, otherwise, you explain this!"

Richie held out his arm, showing Methos a large burn mark that hadn't healed. Methos' eyes went wide when he saw it, how had he missed it?

"He did that, after he knocked me on the floor, while I was trying to figure out which end was up, he took out a lighter and started flicking it at my arm - burnt like hell - still think I'm crazy?"

"I never said you were crazy, Richie," Methos said.

"But you don't believe me."

"Kid, after staying a night in this town, I'll believe anything, and before tomorrow, you will too -"

Richie looked down at the floor, his arms folded against his chest, Methos recognized that look of embarrassment. Slowly, Richie raised his head to face Methos, and said, "I'm sorry -"

"It's allright, Richie, go get cleaned up and get dressed," he replied.

"I just hope I can stay awake long enough," Richie said, "I'm exhausted today."

Methos remembered that Richie had taken half the sleeping pills in the bottle last night, so how could he even be up and around?

"Wait a minute, Richie - there's something I need to ask you," Methos said.

Richie turned around just as he reached the bathroom doorway and said, "What?"

"Sit down," Methos said, "I want to talk to you."

Richie made himself comfortable in a chair beside the bed, "What about?"

"When did you take those pills last night?" Methos asked.

"Huh?" Richie asked.

"How long were you out before I found you?" Methos rephrased his question.

"I don't know, when'd you find me?" Richie asked.

"A little after one in the morning," he answered.

"One," Richie repeated in a tired grunt, "I guess I took them somewhere around nine."

There was a moment of silence between the two Immortals, neither one knowing quite what to say.

"Well I don't get it, this makes no sense to me whatsoever," Methos finally said.

"What doesn't?" Richie asked.

"That would mean you slept for four hours on a lethal amount of sleeping pills, then after I brought you into my room, you slept for the rest of the night, undisturbed," Methos slowly explained, "the sun was up when you awoke, so that would be - around six more hours - so how could you be awaken so easily less than halfway through that period of unconsciousness?"

Methos scratched the back of his head, he had been around for over 5,000 years and he'd never seen anything like this before.

"I don't know - all I remember was thinking if I took them, I could sleep easily, and instead - I find myself stuck in the same nightmare that I've been in for months now," Richie quietly explained.

"Exactly what was it?" Methos asked.

Richie stared at the floor for a minute before he finally looked up and answered, "-Me and Mac, at the Dojo, me on the ground and - him circling around me, laughing to himself - grinning from ear to ear that he's about to take my head - and then-"

"Then what?"

"-I don't know," the boy answered, "it's weird, he swings the blade around as he does when he takes a head - and there's no intermission, no shots coming from the other side of the room, or anything - just him, moving in closer towards my neck – but - whenever I do have that nightmare - I never stay asleep long enough for him to actually do it - something always wakes me up in the split second right before-"

"Exactly where you were when I awoke you," Methos realized.

Richie looked up and over at Methos, "Yeah, I guess so - but what's that got to do with anything? I mean - what does any of it mean?"

"I don't know," Methos said, more to himself than Richie, "I just don't know-"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Richie had finished getting dressed, but he remained locked in the bathroom. He didn't particularly wish to see Adam. At least not now, after what had just happened. He couldn't believe what he allowed to happen to him. He felt like an idiot. He allowed Adam to see him stark naked, and crying, before he allowed Adam to carry him into the bedroom, and hold him while he continued bawling, like a baby, while the only thing between the two men was a towel.

Now he was getting a headache. Of all the medication stuffed in the cupboard, surely they had to have aspirins in there somewhere. He found nothing and shut the cupboard, reflecting in the mirror on the front of its door, staring back at Richie, was Duncan. Richie let out a startled scream and took a step back, and then found himself to be staring at nothing but his own reflection. Richie stepped back and sat on the side of the tub, trying to think.

I must be tired, he thought, I must be losing my mind is what it is, I must be delirious or something.

But then Richie faced reality, a hallucination couldn't have given him the burn on his arm. He looked down at his arm and saw it still hadn't really begun to heal yet. What was taking it so long vexed him.

I can get over a mysterious illness waiting in a doctor's office, but I can't get over a first degree burn in a hotel – this is getting ridiculous, the boy thought.

Richie heard Adam knocking on the door, "Richie?"

"Yeah," Richie sighed.

"Are you coming out?"

Richie debated on it for a minute, before responding, "No."

Richie heard Adam jigger with the doorknob, he knew it was no use. He'd locked the door when he got in, the only way Adam could get in would be – as he was taking that into consideration, the bolt moved and the door swung open.

If he had a skeleton key, Richie finished his thought.

"What's the matter? Are you allright?" Adam asked.

Richie crossed his legs and looked down at the floor, not saying anything for several minutes before answering, "No – I'm dying of embarrassment."

"Embarrassment?" Methos repeated, "from what?"

"Adam, you know damn well from what, you were there!" Richie exclaimed as he looked up at him, "try putting yourself in my position!"

"I have been," he replied, "maybe not _exactly_ the same as you, but I've come bloody close for my comfort – I assure you, it's nothing to be embarrassed about, Richie – you shouldn't be ashamed of needing help."

"Help?!" Richie spat.

"Or comfort, if you prefer to call it – or perhaps consolation, whatever you wish to call it – Richie, I couldn't just leave you in there like that."

"Exactly, do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be stark naked, crying like a baby and having someone walk in on you?" Richie asked.

"Try being locked in a prison and being in front of everyone, guards, captives, hostages, and the demented leader, for months on end, wearing nothing but shackles and a chain wrapped around your neck so when they don't like what you're doing they can _jerk _it back 'til you're blue in the face – whereas the other prisoners are kept in long rags until they're used – as nothing but a good time, that they can dispose of when they grow tired of them. That position, I've been in, more times than I care to remember. You better believe by the time I got out of there, I was in far wore shape than you were just now," Methos told him.

Richie said nothing for several minutes, lowering his gaze to down at the floor again, until finally he said, "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"I've been through worse," he replied, "it's not one of the more glamorous parts of my life but – you get through it, you move on from it – at least I have."

"I'm sorry, it's just I – I still can't believe what happened I – I think I'm in shock – I just – I have never let anyone see me naked before, especially not a guy – and – well you see, I was in foster care for most of my life and – well sometimes the guys would –"

"Well believe me, kid, that was the last thing on my mind – I was trying to help you – I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. I have to find out what's wrong with you so I _can_ help you, but I'm afraid right now, I have no idea where to begin. I – I need to find out what's causing all this to happen to you, however – considering where we are – I'd say we're lucky we both haven't gone stark raving mad yet."

"I see," Richie said quietly as gazed down at the floor.

"Richie, I am going to help you – I just need some time to figure out where to start, in the meantime, I recommend we get something to eat," Methos told him.

"Huh?" Richie asked as he looked up.

"It's 11:15 in the morning and neither of us have eaten yet," Methos pointed out as he showed the boy his wristwatch.

"Oh – well I guess I'll call room service and have them –"

"No you don't, kid – I already told you you can't trust the people around here – you leave that to me – just stay put, I'll be back," Methos explained as he headed out the door.

He stopped once he got out and turned around, "Oh kid."

"Yeah Adam?"

"Come out of the bathroom, it's the most boring part of the building I've ever had to talk to," he said.

"Allright," Richie said as he cracked a brief smile.

Methos returned in half an hour with a full cart of food, "What the hell is all that?" Richie asked.

"Well," Methos replied as he stopped pushing the cart, "I didn't know what you like so I brought up a variety."

"Thanks."

Richie took a bottle of beer off the top of the cart and removed the cap with his teeth. Then he plopped down on one of the beds and helped himself to the liquor.

"How's that burn, kid?" Methos asked, "let me see," Methos gently tugged on Richie's wrist to examine the burn.

Richie immediately pulled his arm away from Adam's grasp. The burn had all but completely healed, but it still hurt like hell.

"Sorry, kid – I guess the flesh is still sensitive," he said.

"Yeah," Richie grunted, "I know it has to just about be impossible for Mac to be in this town but – if he isn't – then what happened?"

"I wish I knew kid, I've seen weird things happen before, but never quite like this," Methos said, "but – this is Levingston, hell, this town is probably the only thing that can compare with Illinois."

"Illinois?" Richie asked.

"Of course, it doesn't seem like much now, but back in the '40s in particular it gave people a hell of a scare, it's the most haunted state in the U.S., but – after seeing what goes on here, it would make the St. Valentine's Day Massacre look like a nosebleed," Methos explained.

Richie lifted a lid on a tray containing several bread rolls, and he snatched one off the tray and set the lid down again, "Man – I guess being in this place is harder on you than me."

"Oh it's not so bad," Methos quickly replied, "being the first person to live past a night here, I'd say I'm damn near lucky."

"Think you'll be able to pull it off again?" Richie asked.

"Well you have to remember, kid," he started, "when I left this town, it looked like a nuclear holocaust was taking place – let's hope we don't have to come to that."

"Man – you must've been a genius to be the only person who's survived staying here."

"I wouldn't say I'm a genius, I'm just not a fool – everybody else who I saw come in here that day were just simpletons looking for a good time anyplace they could get it, regardless. I knew something was wrong with this place as soon as I got here," Methos started.

"What was it?" Richie asked.

"Nothing in particular, it's just that feeling you get when you're surrounded by people you know you don't trust," he explained.

Richie lifted the lid to another tray and removed a ham sandwich, "so how long until we can leave?"

"About three and a half hours," Methos said, checking his watch.

"I'll like it when we can leave," Richie said aloud unintentionally.

"Me too," Methos replied.

Methos had gone down to the mechanic's garage to see if they were ready to leave, he insisted Richie stay at the hotel incase there was an unexpected visitor waiting for him down there. Richie wasn't pleased however, what with staying in the hotel where he'd nearly been killed twice, so he headed back over to the Crossfire. He figured he'd get a chance to tell Roxanne goodbye before he left. If anyone in that town was normal, it had to be her. On his way over, Richie took something into consideration, the woman who was working at the hotel last night and the one there today weren't the same, so why should he expect the same woman to be working at a bar? After all, both were well businesses that required for numerous employees in order to run. Just as Richie was ready to stop and turn around, he found himself looking in through the glass door of the bar, and saw Roxanne scrubbing a table in the middle of the place.

"Roxanne."

The lady looked up and across over to the entrance, "Richie – what brings you here again?"

"Uh – I – I'm leaving today, I thought I'd come and say goodbye," he said.

Before Richie could tell her where he was heading, he felt the Immortal Presence nearby, but he didn't turn around and instead continued talking to Roxanne, hoping whoever was coming wasn't one for fighting in public places.

"Anyway, I thought it'd be best if I came to see you before I left," Richie said.

"Nobody's going anywhere," Richie heard.

He turned around and saw Adam standing in the doorway, who was making his way over to the table.

"A—Adam, what's going on?" Richie asked.

"I just got back from the mechanic's, they couldn't do a damn thing with your deathtrap or my automobile today, it's going to them longer, apparently – to get them running again," Methos said.

"Oh wonderful, just wonderful, now what are we supposed to do?" Richie asked.

"We have no choice but to extend our stay at the hotel," he replied.

"The Blue Moon hotel?" Roxanne asked.

"That's right," Richie said.

Roxanne said nothing for a minute and just looked at Richie, then she looked over at the bar and said, "I better get back to work, it was nice seeing you again, Richie…maybe I'll see you again before you leave."

"Trust me, there's definite possibility in that," Methos said.

"So how long have you known Roxanne?" Methos asked Richie once they were back in their hotel room.

"Just since yesterday – why? Do you know her?" Richie asked.

"Not personally but – I do believe I've seen her a couple of times before," Methos explained as he shut the door.

"Would she be considered the type of person to look out for in this town?" Richie asked.

"Not as far as I know – you have to understand, while we have our share of unusual enemies here, there are regular people as well."

"Uh – do we have to worry about those people hearing us?" Richie asked.

"No, these rooms are pretty much sound proof, that's how they kill the guests and the regular people working here never know until the next morning, and I wouldn't waste my time looking for anything – I have a feeling that if the rooms were bugged, they'd walk in on more people exploring their private lives – people are looking for just about as good a cheap thrills here as they do anywhere else in the world."

"I guess there's a lot that comes in handy, being an old pervert and all," Richie laughed.

If only you knew _how_ old, Methos thought.

"So what do you think was wrong with your car and my bike that they can't get them fixed yet?" Richie asked.

"Now that, I don't see as an accident," Methos said.

"What?" Richie asked as he got a familiar sensation of 'pins and needles' in his upper back and neck.

"I think – either someone knows we're onto them, or someone is just waiting for dark to make their move, and in doing so, is stalling for time," Methos said.

"Well, let's see, we have no transportation, we have no way to get any outside help and we can't trust anybody to help get us the hell out of here. Great, just marvelous, always the way I wanted to die," Richie said, "be used in a dozen inhumane experiments, only to result in getting hacked into a thousand bloody pieces."

"Well – that _would_ be the understatement of how things go around here," Methos said.

"Are you serious?" Richie asked as he found himself struggling to catch his breath.

"I know – I wish it was just something made up myself too, believe me, kid, if there's a way out of here, we have to find it."

"Yeah, but how? I mean, if your jeep and my bike are still at that garage – they've probably wrecked them so if we went down there, we still couldn't get out," Richie said, "just great, just great – I mean, of all the ways to die – let's look at the facts, what could they do to us? What's the worst possible way they could kill us?"

"Take your pick," Methos said, "they could poison you, strangle you, stab you in every place of your body, dissect your brain in 15 different parts, or they could rip you apart piece by piece with their bare hands. There are some others, but I don't think you should hear about them."

"Oh man, how are we going to keep that from happening to us?" Richie asked.

"The only way we can, get the hell out of here, and stay alive until we can get out," Methos said.

"Yeah, but how?"

"Well for one thing, try and stay awake tonight."

Richie slightly nodded in understanding.

"We'll just have to see what happens. We don't have a lot of options here, kid."

"I'm starting to see that," Richie said as he headed over to the window.

Methos came out of the bathroom and saw Richie staring out the window, into the crimson sunset. He hadn't moved from his spot in hours. Methos knew it wasn't as much what Richie was looking at as what was going through his head. He knew they had to get out, he knew they had to survive this stay in Levingston, but neither one knew exactly how.

He seated himself beside Richie, "Are you allright, Richie?"

"Yeah," the boy answered, not even moving his eyes from the window.

"Richie, we're going to get out of here, we just have to come up with a strategy to get away from _them_."

"Yeah, I know," Richie weakly responded as he lowered his head.

Methos got a look at Richie, he was exhausted, Methos could tell just by looking at the boy that his eyelids hurt staying open, and they hurt even more when he closed them.

"Richie."

He was obviously lost in thought because he sat up straight and let out a startled, incoherent sound.

"Huh?"

"We still have a couple of hours before we have to worry about much of anything, why don't you get some sleep?" Methos suggested.

Richie shook his head, but Methos could tell he was more than ready to give in and sleep. Methos made a mental bet with himself that come ten minutes, the boy would be dead to the world in slumber.

Methos had to laugh, he couldn't have timed that bet more perfectly. Richie had fallen asleep, slouched in the chair with his head in his hands. Methos poked Richie a couple of times, and nothing seemed to affect him. So, Methos picked Richie up and carried him over to the bed and put him down. He wouldn't be getting much sleep but at least it was a temporary escape from the madness they were currently involved in.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Richie drew in a long breath and let out a disgruntled noise as he revived. At first his vision was pitch black, before he had time to panic over the possibility of being blind, it was replaced by a dark, blurry surrounding. Slowly his surroundings came into focus and what he could make out, made his blood run cold. Duncan was right in front of him with a look on his face that Richie couldn't make out as to whether it was evil or in a demented way, pleased.

Richie realized he couldn't raise his head too well, so he writhed around, trying to get loose from whatever was holding him.

"Hold still, Brat," Duncan told him.

Richie managed to tilt his head up at a brief angle and saw that Duncan was fidgeting with a pair of handcuffs he'd locked the boy's wrists in. He'd attached them to a second pair and was hooking them to a pipe so he wouldn't get loose.

"Mac," Richie said as he writhed in the handcuffs' grasp. Not only was it a useless idea, his arms already hurt like hell and it just added to the pain, "Mac, why're you doing this to me?"

Duncan didn't answer, when he finally got the cuffs locked around the pipe, he took a step back to admire his work. Richie locked up in a set of handcuffs, unable to defend himself, partially paralyzed with fear. As Richie continued to struggle with the cuffs, he felt pressure forced upon his neck. One good jerk, and Richie hit the wall behind him, he saw a slim black piece of metal that went across the wall, the part directly in front of him had been bent, which had held his neck into place so he couldn't move. Duncan wasn't pleased with it, he walked over to Richie, grabbed him by his hair and jerked him forward again, slamming his neck against the metal. Richie screamed in response to the excruciating pain, but the sound that came out was low and far from what it should've been.

Duncan turned back around and walked over to a dirty metal table and picked up something that Richie couldn't make out what it was. When Duncan turned around, Richie saw a glare of light run across the blade of the knife he was holding. His eyes went wide as Duncan closed in on him.

"Mac, please!" Richie begged as Duncan drew in closer, "Mac, don't do this – please!"

But Duncan was deaf to Richie's pleads. Tears built up in the boys eyes as he saw Duncan continue to advance towards him until finally, he was right in front of him.

Richie begged him to stop, one last time before Duncan raised his hand to him and the blade of the knife struck his cheek. Richie whimpered as the tears fell from his eyes and ran down his face as he felt the blood run down his cheek. He closed his eyes and lowered his head in defeat. But Duncan wasn't going to make this easy for him, he grabbed Richie's hair again and jerked his head up. In that instant, Richie unintentionally opened his eyes and saw Duncan's eyes staring coldly into his.

"I don't deal in mercy – boy," he warned Richie.

Duncan let go of Richie's hair and Richie lowered his head again when Duncan slapped him with his free hand. The hit was so strong, Richie could've sworn he felt some bones in his face break. The pain was severe and Richie let out a near ear-shattering cry until he felt the pain slowly turn into numbness. Duncan lowered his hand with the knife and pointed the blade at Richie's stomach.

"Mac," Richie pitifully cried, "why?" was all he could say. Richie cried and whimpered before he could build up the strength to ask, "What did I do?"

A grin formed on Duncan's face that Richie swore to God he'd never seen Duncan use before. That was because never before had Duncan had this evil raging inside of him, and it seemed he'd taken quite a fondness to having it.

"Nothing," Duncan answered, "which is why I've been so fond of you. You're not making this difficult for me, you're very cooperative, I like that. And if you want to keep your head, you'll cooperate with me now."

That was the last thing Richie heard Duncan say before he felt the blade dig into his abdomen. Richie wanted to scream, but his strength was gone, the cuffs that constrained his wrists were the only thing that held him up as he knees gave out and the rest of him sagged closer to the floor as the life in him left.

Richie felt his breath quicken and he started thrashing wildly when he felt someone grab him and hold him down. He heard someone talking to him in a calm tone, a voice not unfamiliar to him, and yet he couldn't place the identity of the person. He felt long fingers run across his forehead, smoothing back his short, sweaty bangs. That was when Richie made a decision he regretted and opened his eyes, only to find Adam, not Duncan, hovering over him. Richie let out an incoherent sigh of relief.

"Richie, are you okay?" he asked.

Richie tried to get out of Adam's hold on him and rolled over onto his side and let out a pitiful sob as he placed his cupped hands over his eyes. His face was already hot and wet with tears, and the bed was covered in sweat. He felt Adam slip one arm around his upper back and the other around his waist and help sit him up and prop his head up against the headboard, with him still writhing and thrashing in his arms.

"A–Adam," he murmured between his cries.

"Shhhhhh – it's allright Richie, it's just me."

"But I – Mac was – "

"He is in Paris most probably stewing away on his barge boring himself to insanity, don't worry about MacLeod," he said, "he's not here – he can't get you."

Richie finally gave up on getting loose and allowed himself to fall back onto the bed and relax.

"Adam, I – where am I? What – what time is it? What's going on?"

"Relax, Richie, everything's allright – you were just having a nightmare."

"Yeah," Richie said as he calmed down, "a real hell of one at that."

Richie lowered his head onto Adam's shoulder as he slouched down on the bed. His breathing had rapidly sped up in the aftermath of the nightmare; if he weren't Immortal he would've sworn he was going to have a heart attack.

Methos listened to his heavy breathing, and sure enough, Richie started hyperventilating shortly after. Methos grabbed him by his shoulders and laid him flat on the bed and told him to breathe slowly. In between his short, rapid breaths, Richie argued with him that he couldn't breathe. Methos leaned over towards the nightstand where a tray had been set with a pitcher of water and two goblets. He poured a drink and brought the goblet to Richie's lips. However, Richie was less than willing to cooperate with him, he started thrashing against Methos' hold on him and in the process smashed the goblet as hundreds of shards of glass fell against him and cut him. Methos picked Richie up off of the bed and took him into the bathroom and laid him in the tub.

Richie grabbed Adam's wrist and grunted, "No you don't you're not turning that cold water on me!"

Methos pulled his wrist away from Richie's grip and pushed Richie back against the tub, it obviously hurt Richie because he was breathing heavily, trying not to scream. Finally it seemed that his breathing pattern was normal again, so Methos let go of him.

"Feeling better?" Methos asked.

"What the hell was that for?!" Richie asked.

"I had to get you to stop hyperventilating, now you stay here while I get a maid up here to clean up the glass," he told the boy.

Methos picked up the phone and rang for the front desk.

"_Yes Mister Pierson?"_

"Send a maid up to my room, a glass broke and I need the sheets removed," Methos said.

"_Okay, Mister Pierson."_

Methos hung up the phone and went to wait for the maid as Richie came out of the bathroom muttering, "A-Adam."

"Oh no you don't, you go back in the bathroom and wait until the maid leaves, you look horrifying enough as is," he told him.

Richie was still bleeding in some places where larger parts of the goblet had cut him, and the last thing Methos figured they needed was for the hotel to find out they were Immortal. So Richie went back into the bathroom and shut the door just as there was a knock on the bedroom door. Methos opened the door and in came a young woman with blond curly hair in a small white maid's outfit.

"What seems to be the problem, Mister Pierson?" she asked.

Methos did a double take, he could've sworn this lady was on helium from the way she sounded.

"Well when I turned around, one of the glasses from that tray smashed and the pieces are in the sheets, and I need them removed," he explained.

"Okay, Mister Pierson, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room for a minute," the maid said.

"Why?"

"Well there might be some shards in the floor too, and I don't want you to get hurt," she said.

Methos thought to himself, after the first night I spent in this God-for-saken town, nothing you could do could hurt me.

The maid vacuumed the floor around the bed, removed the sheets and the pillows and the mattress. She brought in a new mattress and clean sheets and pillows and remade the bed, Methos gave her a generous tip for her time and she left. He then heard something that shocked him, it was the sound of someone vomiting, and it was coming from the bathroom.

Richie felt like his head was about to burst, he just finished throwing up for the first time so far, his eyes were squeezed shut and he was just waiting to start retching again. He waited a few seconds and nothing happened, he opened his eyes and saw that the faucet was still running after having washed down what he'd thrown up, and he rested his head against the china sink, starting to calm down when he felt someone jerk him by his hair. Remembering what had happened in his dream, he shot straight up and turned around. When he saw it was only Adam, he was relieved, then he felt a pulsating motion in his stomach and leaned over the sink again.

"Richie, are you allright?" he asked.

Richie waited a few seconds and when nothing happened, he replied, "I think so."

Methos shut off the faucet and helped Richie out of the bathroom and back over to his bed. Richie fell asleep and Methos decided for the time being not to do anything, but to wait and see what would happen next.

Half an hour later, Richie woke up with a headache that felt like someone had beaten him on the side of the head, he sat up on the bed and saw Adam staring at him.

"How're you feeling, kid?" Methos asked.

"Better," Richie bitterly replied.

Methos was tired of pussyfooting around on this, he had to know. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"It was just a nightmare—sorry," Richie said.

"Sounded like a hell of a nightmare to me, Richie," he responded, "what happened?"

Richie looked down at the floor and bit his lower lip; Methos knew from the start that it wouldn't be easy for Richie to tell him about it, if he did it at all. He also knew that Richie hoped he would grow impatient with him and suggest they forget it.

"I know it's not easy, Richie, take your time," he assured the boy.

Richie didn't move, he hardly blinked, he refused to look Adam in the face.

"Richie," he started, "you can tell me what happened, you know you can trust me—"

Indeed Methos' patience was wearing thin, but he refused to give up without a fight.

Finally, Richie looked up, "Well I don't exactly know where to begin—see, I was—I woke up and Mac had my hands cuffed together and around this pipe above my head, and there was this – bar in front of my neck so I couldn't move and—Mac went over to this table, picked up a knife – and he came back at me, and—"

"I get it, is that around where you woke up?" Adam asked.

"I don't remember, the last part seems like a blur," Richie said.

"Richie—"

"What?"

"Were you having nightmares like this before you came here?" he asked.

"Well—in a way, sort of—yeah but—not **_exactly_** like that, I mean he didn't—I—it's hopeless, I can't explain it, I can hardly even remember it as it was," Richie said.

"Maybe it's better that you don't remember," Adam told him, "what I'm trying to figure out is where these nightmares started coming from all of a sudden."

"Well I—" Richie looked at Adam and saw he seemed to be lost in thought, "Adam, are you okay?"

Adam shook his head a bit and looked at Richie, "Richie, do you still have that bottle of sleeping pills you got from the doctor?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I need you to do me a favor."


	5. Chapter 5

"You want me to do what?"

"I am going to take your sleeping pills and I need you to watch me while I sleep," Methos explained, "if it should seem I'm lapsing into a nightmare, I want you to try and wake me."

"Adam," Richie seemed to be at a loss, "I don't get what you're trying to get by doing this."

"I can't very well explain it, Richie, but if my theory is correct—you're just going to have to trust me on this," he told the boy.

"It sounds stupid but I'll do it," Richie said.

Methos took two of the pills, and laid down on his bed, within a matter of time, he was deep in what seemed to be a peaceful sleep, with Richie watching from the other bed. Richie wished Adam hadn't made him agree to this, he was getting tired again himself, he leaned against the wall and ran his hand through his hair—then Richie started thinking, if he ever came across Mac again, he wasn't going to let him have the upper hand, not in any way if he could help it.

Methos lay sprawled out on the bed reading, waiting on Richie. He said he'd gone to see how the repairs at the garage were coming, that was almost an hour ago. He felt the buzz of another Immortal and there was a knock at the door. Methos kept his eyes on the book and said, "Come in." But the knocking continued, Methos looked up and repeated, "Come in." But still the knocking continued, this time it was louder, so Methos went over to the door, said, "I said come in," and swung open the door.

He was greeted with a knife to the abdomen, he looked down and saw the handle of the knife sticking out, and the blood pouring down his shirt, he looked up and saw a face he'd hoped to have long forgotten.

"_Hello Brother."_

Methos felt the life drain out of him and he struggled to say that one word. That cursed name he'd put in the back of his memories, hoping never to have to say again—"Kronos."

Methos felt the life drain out of him as he slipped down in the doorway and onto the floor, his temporary death would be of little comfort, but compared to what was coming next he was glad to see the darkness.

Methos awoke to the sudden vibration of someone shaking him, and when he woke up, he saw a face he almost didn't recognize. At first he was shocked, but then he was relieved to see it was only Richie, but he then realized there was something different. His hair had been cut, all of his curls had been hacked right off, his hair was no longer than where the back of his head met his neck, even his bangs were gone.

"Richie, what the bloody hell did you do to yourself?" Methos asked as he ran his hand over the smooth, shortened hair. He couldn't believe too much that Richie would've done this to himself intentionally.

Richie shrugged, "Nothing that I didn't want—" he said as he momentarily looked up to where his bangs used to be. He looked back down at Methos and said, "Are you okay? You seemed to be worse off than I was earlier, what happened?"

"Well—I think I might know one reason you're having all these nightmares," Methos said.

"What is it?" Richie asked.

Methos rolled over and reached over on the nightstand and picked up the bottle. "These pills, these damn pills the doctor gave you, I think I know why he gave them to you."

"Why?"

"I think there's something in them that triggers something in your brain so when you do go to sleep, you're terrorized by your worst nightmare and—they seem so real that you begin to believe that it IS real, so very little interferes with it, so you remain in a deep sleep so—it would you leave basically helpless in real life, rendering you as easy prey for someone who wants to kill you," he explained, "Richie, I think that's what they do and I think that's why the doctor gave them to you, he's probably one of **them**."

"Oh shit, really?"

"Yes—"

Richie lowered his head into the sheets and groaned miserably. Methos sat up in the bed and placed a hand on the boy's back. "Richie—they're not going to kill you—they haven't touched you yet and I'm going to see to it that they don't—"

Richie looked up at him and said, "Adam—those pills, those damn pills—you only took two of them and you know how horrible they are, I took half the damn bottle—and if you weren't here to watch me—"

"I am and that's all that matters, —and as long as I am here—you're going to be allright, now calm down," he told the boy.

But Richie didn't seem to hear him, he lowered his head and buried his face in the sheets again, Methos knew nothing else he could say could possibly be of any comfort to the boy.

It didn't bother Methos all that much, his discovery of the pills was a bit of a shock but it wasn't something that disturbed him deeply. He'd been to this hellhole once before, he knew a lot of what to expect, he knew just about every trick in the book that went on in this town. Poor Richie on the other hand, had no idea what could possibly go wrong. It was all new to him, and he'd already been having trouble when he started being haunted by his dreams of MacLeod, now he was seeing him in the room when he couldn't possibly be there. He didn't know how to help him, except to get the both of them out of Levingston alive.

Methos was worried about Richie, for the rest of the day he was like a zombie, he wouldn't talk to him, he wouldn't eat his dinner, he hardly moved, he just laid on his bed looking at the ceiling. He didn't know what to do, he hadn't done much of anything himself since he'd woken up. The garage still hadn't gotten his car or Richie's bike fixed so they were stuck spending another dreadful night in the bloody place. Methos could understand why Richie was always so tired, he only took two of the sleeping pills and was ready to fall asleep again when his cell-phone rang. He took it off his nightstand, pressed a button and brought it up to his ear, "Hello?"

"_Methos."_

Methos' eyelids flew open when he heard the voice, it was MacLeod, what could he possibly want by now?

"I'm listening," he replied, "what is it?"

"_Where are you?"_

"Europe."

"_Where in Europe?"_

"It doesn't matter." Methos looked over at the other bed and saw Richie had fallen asleep again. He was almost positive the boy couldn't hear him talking, he hoped not, "what do you want?"

"_Are you allright?"_

What kind of stupid question was that? Methos thought, "Yes, and you?"

"_I'm allright."_

Methos could tell that contrary to what the stubborn Scot said, he wasn't.

"What do you what?" Methos repeated.

"_I was wondering what was new where you are."_

_Now_ what kind of stupid question was **that**? Methos thought, but he didn't bother saying that. "Everything," he answered instead.

"_Any good news?"_

"No."

He heard Duncan sigh, it was more of a huff than a sigh, but that was usually how it was with MacLeod. Methos was easily getting bored by his conversation, not to mention a bit tired, and was debating whether or not he should hang up on him. When MacLeod spoke again, Methos decided to listen, instead.

"Methos, I'm sorry about throwing you out of the barge—" 

Suddenly Methos wasn't tired anymore, he was bitter. Correction, he thought, he was past bitter, he was sore as hell with MacLeod, and he was going to make sure he knew that.

"No you're not," he sneered sourly.

"_Methos, please! I feel terrible." _It was really pathetic, MacLeod almost sounded desperate, at least to Methos he did.

"You feel terrible—well how do you think Richie feels?" he snapped.

It wasn't until Methos had actually said it that he realized his slip. Now MacLeod was going to be suspicious.

"_I don't know, I haven't seen him since the Dark Quickening, I hope he's allright."_

Methos quietly exhaled a sigh in relief, so MacLeod still didn't know anything. Well he wasn't going to say anything else to make the Highlander suspicious, "I'm sure he's more or less holding together," Methos replied casually as he looked over at the still sleeping boy.

"_I also haven't heard from Joe since around that time, I hope he's doing allright."_

"He's a tough old man, I'm sure he is."

"This is crazy Methos, I don't know where Joe is, I don't know where Richie is, I know very little about where you are—did I suddenly become a leper to you people or something?"

Methos chuckled, "Nice to know you haven't lost your sense of humor, but what about Amanda? Isn't she still coming around?"

"Not lately she hasn't."

"Well cheer up, there has to be someone you haven't driven away yet."

"It's not funny, Methos."

"I never said it was. Now look, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got my hands tied up for the time being. Goodbye."

Methos hung up before Duncan could protest, and he tossed his phone over to the bedside table. A few minutes afterwards, Richie's body started twitching as he woke up. "Adam—" he weakly said.

"Yeah kid?" Methos asked as he looked over at the boy.

"What's going on?" Richie asked as he slowly sat up, "What time is it?"

Methos looked over at the clock, "a quarter to eight. How are you?"

"Fine I guess," Richie said quietly.

"Something wrong with your voice?" he asked.

"No, just tired," Richie replied, following it up with a yawn.

"I can see that."

"Anything happen while I was asleep?" Richie asked.

"No."

"So—you got any idea when we're getting out of here?" Richie asked.

"No."

"Allright I have a question—why don't we just forget the garage, and find out where the nearest airport is and get on the next flight heading out of here?" Richie asked.

"That's a futile idea. The nearest airport would be at least thirty miles away and it's very unlikely that we'd even be able to catch a flight."

"Damn it, Adam—I'm trying to think of a way we can get out of here, but nothing I'm coming up with is any good."

"I know—I'm in the same position as you, that's why I never liked even coming near here," Methos said.

"Well—look Adam, I know a few things about repairing vehicles, why don't we get down to the garage, get my bike and your car out, and I'll see what I can do?" Richie asked.

"Not until morning."

"What?" Richie asked, "Why? Why not go now and save ourselves another night here as sitting ducks?"

"To be honest," Methos said, "I don't like the idea of either of us going out there right now—I think you still need a while to fully get all that medicine out of your system. By morning you should be more capable of staying awake and alert, that's what you need when you get out there—it's not often that people are killed in the daytime, but there's always a chance."

"So what? We just stay here again tonight?" Richie asked.

As much as he hated to, Methos answered, "Yes, right now I think that's about all we can do tonight. Tomorrow we'll go down to the garage and see what we can do."

"Adam—how—how am I supposed to get through another night sleeping here?" Richie asked, sounding a bit scared and upset at the same time.

Methos knew that Richie was worried, he was worried for the both of them, he was worried how they were going to get out of this alive, especially while waiting for the final effects of the pills to get out of his system.

"The same way it was done before, you go to sleep and I'll watch you—I'll make sure nothing happens," he explained, trying to relax Richie's very tense mind.

But it didn't seem to work, Richie still looked terribly worried and he was shaking his head, "What about you, Adam? You took the pills too, you could fall asleep."

Not after the nightmare I had today, the old man thought to himself, Methos shook his head, "I'll be allright—I'm fine—**you**," he said in a tone so to make himself clear, "go to sleep."

Richie looked at Methos, to him, Richie looked tired, he also looked like he wanted to argue with him, but he couldn't find the right words to use in an argument, so he got his bed ready and went to sleep.

Truth was, Methos did feel tired, but not enough to want to sleep. He couldn't sleep, he had to watch Richie, and make sure nothing happened to him. He would never forgive himself if he allowed something to happen to the boy while he was watching him, in this town. This town, Methos thought. He wanted to laugh, he also wanted to throw up, this town was **the** worst town he had ever seen. In fact, it was so horrible he'd almost bet it saw more gore and death in one night than any Nazi concentration camp saw in a month.

Yes—he thought, that's about how bad it was, that's how many people got lured into it and were forced to stay the night, only to end up as the next victims. He shuddered to think of some of the more horrifying ways to die that could be pulled off in Levingston. Those memories, he thought more than once, he'd like to forget just as easily as he forgot everything of how his life was like before becoming Immortal, everything before that was pretty much a blur, that's what he wanted the first time he came to Levingston and that's what he wanted now.

Methos sat on his bed, fighting with himself to stay awake, it felt like a losing battle. He felt as if he'd gone days without any sleep or rest at all. It almost felt like he was about to leave his body—yes, it wasn't exactly something he could explain from experience, but it felt to him as if he was half gone from his body already. He'd heard of outer-body experiences before, questioned what they were like, often let his imagination run with the idea, but never as far as he could recall experienced one, but it sure felt like it now.

No, he wouldn't fall asleep, he couldn't fall asleep, looking at the young Immortal over on the other bed reminded him why he couldn't. Richie was new here, he hardly knew what to expect and already he was in fear of his life, Methos knew what could happen, he was terrified for both of them. As he struggled to stay awake, he went over in his mind all the possible ways to die in the two times he'd been here. Vivisection, decapitation, disembowelment, stabbed mercilessly, dissection, tossed into tubs and vats of acids of all sorts. Sometimes, after the victims had been killed, their bodies were severed, or suffered more stab wounds, other bodies were split open. Some unfortunate people had been drenched in grain alcohol and lit on fire. There was no true safety anywhere, even at the cemetery people went and dug up corpses to add to their long past fatal wounds.

It made Methos sick just thinking of it all, and what would happen if the same people who did that were to get their hands on him and the boy. Just remembering what happened in the past was enough to make him cringe, what they could do now, he didn't even want to consider that. Their older methods, reminded him of so many homicidal maniacs and psychotics, most of which were dead and had been for many years. Methos couldn't help thinking of some of the most notorious serial killers in history, Edward Gein—what he did with his victims reminded most of Jeffrey Dahmer more than any other killer in history—and John Christie, another psychotic as far as rape, murder, and necrophilia were concerned.

And–—how could he forget Lydia Sherman? A woman who poisoned and killed two husbands and eight kids, (and also himself. It wasn't something he was likely to divulge to anybody, how this conniving bitch had poisoned him and made off with his money – but at least he had survived, unlike her other victims), she went down in history as one of the more down-right pure evil murderesses. Another killer he remembered a bit too well, Dennis Nilsen, — where was he when he first found out about him? Ah yes, he had been traveling through London, but not in the right place to personally know Nilsen. No, he read about that one in the newspaper one morning, and nearly eight months later, Methos found out that after this man killed sixteen people and placed their severed remains in the sewer, had been found sane and guilty for only eight of the victims. A life sentencing was expected for that man, but at the very least he'd be seeing 25 years. That was less than 13 years ago, Methos realized.

Good Lord, Methos thought to himself, that man is still alive, and when he gets out of prison — If he gets out of prison, he could come here to Levingston, he realized, he could murder whoever and however many he pleased, nothing would ever be done with him and that man would be free to murder all he wanted. As the realization of that horror set in, Methos thought to himself, well one thing was for sure, Richie wouldn't be coming around here ever again, he would see to that himself. So that's one less victim for the people around here, and definitely one more life he was responsible for, at least temporarily.

Methos woke up not even realizing he'd been asleep. At first he cursed himself for falling asleep in the first place, but he calmed down when he saw Richie was still in the other bed, still asleep, and he seemed to be resting peacefully. Methos rolled up his sleeve and looked at his watch, 3:15 in the morning. Methos tried to think, when could he possibly have fallen asleep? Oh yes, now he remembered, it had been three hours ago. He considered both of them to be lucky that they hadn't been killed yet.

Just to make sure that it wasn't a hallucination, or part of a dream, Methos got off his bed and went over to Richie's. There he was, sprawled out on the bed, breathing slowly and heavily. Methos sighed in relief that they were both still alive, and he went back over to his bed, stepping lightly and quietly so he wouldn't wake the boy.

Methos would never tell him, in fact he'd never told anyone, but Richie reminded him of someone he used to know. Someone he used to look after. Looking back it was difficult to remember exactly when or where, but he remembered Alexander. Alexander had been born to a young unwed mother, who had died giving him life –The mother's family wanted nothing to do with him, they called him a disgrace, an abomination, they refused to have anything to do with a dirty creature, being born into filthy and vile circumstances. –—Very few people carried the same attitude towards unwed mothers, but back when this had happened, it was a very serious and quite taboo issue.

–With no one wanting Alexander, Methos took him home with him, he was living with a few other people like him at the time. Some were Immortals, others weren't, all the same they were different from everyone else, and they didn't like having to fight anyone. Ordinarily they all got along with one another, so he thought it would be easier to raise Alexander in a house with several people who wanted him. Over the years, he grew and transformed into a fine young man, he was what Methos had called a gentle beast. –

for the majority of the time, Alexander was the perfect gentleman, always polite with the ladies, never looking for trouble, always wanting to help people.

Unfortunately that didn't always last, —there would come times where he would get pushed and pushed until he couldn't stand it, and the few times he fought, he fought violently. Very bloody, his opponents were always bloody by the time the battles ended. Sometimes he'd get mad at Methos and try to fight him, Methos was a bit more of a fighter at the time, but he couldn't fight his own kid – he **wouldn't** fight him. Though he never had anyone to actually address as his father, Methos certainly thought plenty of Alexander as his own son. As he'd seen in many normal families, there were many a days where Alexander made him very proud of him, and others that he just wanted to strangle him. Still, he'd gotten Alexander through the roughest 19 years of his life – and then one day, it all came to an end.

Late one night, two men had gotten drunk and got into a fight. One man had picked up a broken piece of glass and hid it for the fight. –Alexander got between the two men in hopes of breaking up the fight, but the man sliced his throat, he bled to death in seconds. When Methos had first heard what happened, he said nothing, thought nothing, he didn't move, he didn't blink, he didn't even breathe –when that had passed, he went to his room of the house and locked himself in, to mourn in private. The only time he came out willingly, was to go to the funeral. He couldn't stand the thought of preparing the funeral, but he certainly thought enough of Alexander to attend his final farewell.

It was a beautiful service, as beautiful as it could get back then, several people attended, all left flowers where he was buried, Methos left a note over the freshly replaced dirt and left. No one else who had come by had bothered to read the note, which only had two words written on it. **I'm sorry.** For days he stayed locked in his room again, he refused to come out, he wouldn't eat, he barely slept, weeks went by before he said a word to anyone else in the house – he just stayed in bed crying, mourning the loss of the boy he loved as his own son. He'd been there to see him take his first breath, and he had hoped to God that he himself would be closer to death before he saw Alexander take his last one.

When Alexander had been alive, Methos did many things that neither he nor Alexander enjoyed, some had been done intentionally, others not. –But the biggest mistake Methos made, he thought, was that never once while he was alive did he tell Alexander that he loved him. It seemed that Alexander knew it without him saying, but just the same Methos wished that he'd told him when he was alive – Remembering him afterwards usually became very painful to Methos, so many times he spent blocking it out of his mind. ––Now that wasn't right, he thought, Alexander never asked for that. He never asked to live, he never asked to die, he never asked to be born, and he certainly never asked to be forgotten.

It wasn't—it wasn't that he didn't want to remember him, Methos thought to himself, it was just that, if it were true what people said about the deceased hearing the living's thoughts, he didn't want Alexander to think that he never loved him, because every time he thought about the boy, it always seemed to hurt him worse than anything. It was bad enough that he never told him while he was alive, Methos said to himself, if the boy could hear his thoughts from where he was with the dead – he didn't want the boy to think that the only man he ever really knew as a father, didn't love him. That wasn't the case, that was the furthest cry from the truth, Methos had loved him as his own, but it hurt him to remember because every time he thought about Alexander, he thought about his demise. That was too much for him, that was why he often blocked it from his mind.

Through the years, he'd only wished that if Alexander could hear what Methos thought, that Alexander would be able to forgive him for not remembering him more than he had over the years.

God, Methos thought to himself, if I could have one last chance to talk to that boy – he thought, but what would he say? It didn't seem to matter, he thought, since he would never have that chance, Alexander was dead and had been for many years, nothing could change that.

These days it seemed he was remembering Alexander more than he used to, and just about every time he did, he immediately would think of Richie as well. Maybe that's why he was so protective of Richie now, he thought to himself, because he reminded Methos so much of Alexander. Maybe and maybe not that was the case, but it didn't matter, Methos cared for Richie oddly enough in the same sense that he had cared for Alexander when he was alive——he didn't really know what to think of it. He had loved Alexander as his own and now it seemed he was starting to think the same about Richie.

Truth be known, his sympathy did go out to the boy, his own teacher, his best friend, his 'father' if you will, had betrayed him by something out of both their control. It seemed to Methos that now that Richie didn't even want to think about Duncan MacLeod, that he needed someone else in his life who cared about him, and was someone that he trusted. Oddly enough it seemed for the time being that he was both. What had happened in the past with Alexander had been out of his hands—out of his control, he wasn't with him that night, he was out on the streets all alone when he came across the two drunks. Methos wasn't going to make the same mistake with Richie, he wasn't even going to consider leaving him to fend for himself until they were somewhere safer.

Somewhere into everything that Methos had been thinking, he realized he'd fallen asleep again sometime while he was thinking of it all. He knew his eyes were closed, but still it seemed he could see everything in the room. It was just a dream, he told himself, he needed to wake up before something happened, that was what he was deciding on, when he felt someone put a hand on his shoulder.

Richie must've woken up, he thought. So he opened his eyes and turned around to see the boy behind him.

"What is it?" he asked as he turned around. What he saw terrified him and he froze. Duncan was standing right behind him!

"MacLeod," Methos barely whispered.

Duncan didn't say anything in response, he let go of Methos' shoulder, and let the old man have a few minutes to get used to the sight of him again. When he figured Methos had had enough time to do that, he made his message plain and simple.

"Take good care of him, Methos."

Methos saw Duncan was pointing over to the other bed, and Methos reluctantly turned around and saw Richie still asleep in bed. Looking a bit angelic as he slept, he didn't know what was going on around him –well how could he when Duncan couldn't be sensed? That was something that Methos didn't even realize until he'd had a chance to think about it. He turned back around to ask Duncan about that when he saw Duncan disappear into thin air. The only thing that seemed to be left of the Highlander was an unusual red fog. Methos realized that there was something seriously wrong about this whole thing.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: Hello everybody. I would like to apologize for the very long hiatus for this story. After the last chapter I hit an awful case of writer's block and from then on didn't hold out on much thought about finishing this story. Now, here is the final chapter. I would like to thank everybody for taking an interest in this story when I was first starting out as a fanfiction writer and was very inexperienced and in my own opinion not too hot at it. That said, those of you who read this final passage will probably note quite a difference in my previous writing styles, and this one. Like it or hate it, the story is finally done and while looking back now I'm not too pleased with the way it started, I am happy with the way it finished. That said, I hope you all enjoy it and I look forward to your reviews.

It was dark, that was about all Richie knew. It was dark and he and Adam were running through the back streets of the town. Somehow they had wound up being stuck in town for another day and now it was night again. But they couldn't take a chance on staying any longer than they already had. He didn't know where they were going, and he didn't know what they were running from. But he knew they'd had too many close calls and come out of them alive already to risk it all now and look back.

"Come on, kid!"

Any other time and Richie would've reminded Adam how much he hated being called kid, but he knew this was not the right time.

All that Richie could think about was escaping, he wanted to get away from this town, these people, all the things that haunted him; MacLeod coming after his head especially. He didn't care if what Adam had told him was right and the MacLeod he'd been seeing had been a bad dream caused by those pills he'd taken. He wanted to get away from it all, never look back, never remember any of it. He didn't want to remember anymore all the things that were already haunting him day and night. MacLeod, the blood, the burns, the fights, the paranoia, he wanted to get away from it all and never have to think about it again.

Something happened. He tripped and fell. Suddenly, he couldn't see Adam anymore. And when he called out to the other Immortal, he heard no response. In fact, he noted, he couldn't hear much of anything anymore. He looked around and didn't see anybody. A red fog rolled in and covered everything. Richie couldn't see anything but bright clouds of red, and he could feel hands grabbing at him, trying to jerk him back. He heard voices, MacLeod's being the only one he could really identify. He tried to pull away from them but they jerked him back and he knew they weren't going to let him go.

"And _this_ time," Duncan warned him. The same Duncan who had tried to take his head, who would have taken it had Joe not have stepped in and shot him, "There's not going to be _any_ interruptions."

Richie struggled the entire time, trying to get away, trying to escape. But it was no use, and he knew it, they had him and there was no way out. He felt the cold steel of the oh too familiar sword of his teacher's against his neck, and he knew in that second before the fatal strike, that this was indeed the end. He had been running all this time all for it to end the same. The last thing that he was aware of before he died was screaming; his lifelong struggle to stay alive was finally at an end. The battle was over, and he had lost.

* * *

Richie saw that he was alone, what more, he was still in the ratty motel room he'd checked into for the night. As he sat up on the bed, he looked around and saw that everything was normal and quiet.

A dream? Had it really all been just a dream? It seemed impossible, it all felt too real—but—Richie got off the bed and went over to the mirror on the wall. His hair was still long and curly, so it _had_ to have been a dream. Somehow he couldn't believe that, it felt like the whole nightmare wasn't quite over yet. The night was still early but Richie knew he'd go crazy if he had to stay in that room any longer so he grabbed his bag, headed out the door, dropped his key off at the front desk, hopped on his bike and got out of there.

He'd been having nightmares for weeks since he left Seacouver after MacLeod suffered the Dark Quickening. Richie didn't know what had happened with MacLeod since and he decided he really didn't want to know. He sped up until he was going near 80 miles an hour; he figured if he could keep moving, maybe—eventually—he could finally get away from all the memories and he wouldn't have to remember any of it anymore. He knew that could never happen but he still hoped with every fiber of his being, every day when he woke up and every night before he went to sleep, that it could happen.

Without even bothering to read the signs, when he was certain he'd crossed over into another town, he stopped outside of a bar to get a drink. Before he got out of the street, he felt the presence of another Immortal. Struggling with himself not to lose it now, he gripped his sword and prepared to meet whoever was in the same area.

"Who is it?" Nothing. "I said who the hell is it?"

"Richie?"

His eyes went wide and he almost dropped his sword.

"Adam?"

Off in a distance, he saw the older Immortal approaching, also with his sword drawn.

"Richie, are you okay?" He lowered his sword and held out his hand, "Come over here, let me get a look at you."

In two steps he had crossed over to where Adam stood and all but collapsed against him.

"Oh God, Adam, I'm so glad it's you," he said breathlessly.

"Richie, what's wrong?"

He tried to explain but he was too tired for any of it to be coherent.

"M-Mac, where is he?" Richie asked, "He's not with you, is he?"

"No, he's not, Richie," Adam assured him.

"Good."

Adam looked at him, almost as if he could see _through_ him. That was certainly how Richie felt at the moment; as if he could be seen through, and that Adam knew exactly what was going through his mind.

"Come on, Richie," he said, "You look about ready to drop."

"Come on where?"

"I have a hotel room for the night, it's got two beds, you can take one, and rest…in the morning we'll figure out what to do with you."

Kicking himself for knowing better and going along with it anyway, Richie followed Adam up a couple of blocks to a nice looking hotel. Definitely not one he had ever seen before so he was thankful for that.

* * *

"Adam," Richie said once they were in an elevator heading up to the second floor.

"Yes?"

"What—what town is this?"

"Rodez."

So he was still in France, that was good, he supposed.

"Adam—Mac, what happened to him?"

"He's back to normal now, Richie," Adam answered.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he nodded, "I was there…I helped him to come out of it." He saw the worried look on the boy's face and added, "I know what happened back there with the two of you, Richie, I'm sorry."

"I don't know if I can ever go back there," Richie said.

"You don't have to."

"I—I—he tried to take my head, Adam."

"I know."

"The guy I trusted with my life, he tried to—of all the irony," he closed his eyes and shook his head, "You know, I knew when he started training me that it was all for a reason. There can be only one—but I didn't think that he—that it—oh but it doesn't make any difference, does it? If you're Immortal, you're a target for as long as you live, no matter who you trust."

"Richie," Adam started to say, but was cut off.

"It's true, isn't it? That's why the teachers kill their students, isn't it?" Richie demanded to know.

Adam grabbed Richie and pulled the boy against him and held tightly to him. "Richie, I know it's hard given everything you've had to go through, but you have to try and calm down. Now listen to me _very_ carefully—I have been part of the Game for many years, it doesn't make any sense, it never did, it never will."

Richie breathed heavily and choked on a sob as he replied, "I don't like the killing, Adam."

"It's good that you don't," he said, "Believe me. Look, Richie, none of us _wants_ to be part of this, we never did—but it's not going to stop. Immortals have been trying for thousands of years to find a reason for the killings and to try and stop them when they realize there is no reasoning to it. But fighting to stay alive is what they all know and all they've known since the beginning of it all, they're not going to stop, I'm very sorry to say."

The doors opened and they stepped out and Richie followed Adam to the room where he was staying. When they got in, Adam locked the door behind him and pushed Richie in the direction of one of the beds and told him to lay down. Richie pointed to one of the beds and asked, "Is this one yours?"

"Lie down on either one, it makes no difference to me," he replied.

"How do I know that if I do go back and see Mac, that he won't try for my head again?" Richie asked, "Do you know it was the second time he tried for it? Suppose on the third try he gets lucky."

"Richie, nobody's saying you _have_ to go back if you don't want to," Adam said, "Nobody's saying you have to see MacLeod again if you don't want to. Given what you've been through, I don't blame you if you never go back."

"What about you?" Richie asked, "When did you last see him?"

"It was a short while ago," Adam answered.

"Man," Richie shook his head, "I can't believe that you would."

"Well I've lived a bit longer than you have," Adam said, "Should anything happen, I've a bit less to lose than you do. But he is normal again, Richie, I know you don't believe it and I don't blame you for that either. It's understandable."

Richie wanted to ask if Mac had asked about him, but he didn't want to say it because it sounded awful. It seemed he didn't need to ask.

"He's talked about you quite a bit," Adam told him, "Seems every day he wonders where you are, how you are, if you're alright. He's genuinely worried for your sake."

Richie felt pins and needles in his back. "You're not going to tell him where I am, are you?"

"I'm not going to tell MacLeod anything that I don't think is any of his business, and unless you decide this is, it's not his business where I'm concerned," Adam answered.

With a sigh of relief, Richie laid back against the pillows, then he caught himself. "It's not that I want him to suffer, you know, I—I don't know that I could do that, enjoy something like that—but I just don't want him to know where I am. And I don't want him to find me."

"I understand, Richie," Adam said.

He stopped and looked at the boy again, and he asked Richie, "How much sleep have you been getting lately?"

Richie didn't answer and kept his head down to avoid all contact with the other Immortal.

"That much, eh? Well, I think I have something that can help with that."

Richie's eyes widened, "Not sleeping pills!"

"Don't be ridiculous, what would I do with those things?" Adam asked.

Richie had no answer for that. All he had to say was, "I don't think I could take anything anyway."

"Why don't you get ready for bed?" Adam suggested, "You look half dead from exhaustion as it is."

Richie nodded and started to undress. He then slipped under the covers and let the feel of the cotton sheets and the soft mattress beneath his body comfort him as he laid back and closed his eyes.

Methos watched the kid for a minute, and when Richie seemed to be asleep was when he started getting ready for bed himself.

Joe had asked Methos if there was any way he could track Richie and find out where he was and what he was doing. Apparently when Richie had left town he'd managed to give his own Watcher the slip and nobody knew anything since that night he ran away. Methos had an idea that the boy might return to Paris because it was the only other place he knew too well. So, after tiring of MacLeod's company, he'd disappeared in the middle of the night and gone halfway around the world on what had appeared to be a wild goose chase. He'd checked into this hotel a week earlier, and every night he had the most absurd nightmares; every one of them feeling all too real to just be a dream. He'd had one earlier that evening too, and when he woke up he decided he couldn't stay in his room any longer and he had to go out and get some air. That was how he ran into Richie at the bar. And the poor kid looked about like he'd felt at the time, and it drove Methos to wonder if perhaps the reason Richie hadn't been getting any sleep lately was the same reason he himself had been staying up nights.

Hell on earth. That's what Methos called it. Every so often he would go into a bout of nightmares that involved he being stuck in a weird town somewhere on one of the four corners of earth, where every square inch seemed to be evil incarnate. In the beginning, he hadn't understood what it was, and then later on the dreams started becoming more personal. He would be haunted by the memories of somebody he had loved in a previous life, and failed to save from somebody or something.

Every day of his life he had to live with what he had done, the people he had loved and lost, and failed. He didn't know for fact, but he suspected that the day would come when it would all become too much for him and he would lose his mind. Being 5000 years old, he feared that his day was coming when he would finally snap. He prayed that it wouldn't happen but every so often he gave himself room to stop, and think about it, and worry.

That was the thing, Methos had decided. The subconscious of the human mind was a very dangerous thing; this he had known since psychology was first studied. Within the subconscious seemed to be the conscience's favorite hiding place. It might not obviously eat at you for a while, but that one thought that kept you up nights, worried for weeks, it would always be on the underlining of your conscious mind. In the daytime it was very easy to avoid confrontation with the thought that haunted you; but at night, after the sun went down, and you had done all the running from it that you could, that was when the truth came out. Late at night, alone in the dark, whatever was haunting a person would choose then to come out and keep them laid awake at nights. It might have been a childish fear the individual became faced with, or it could be something very reasonable, or anything in between. All that Methos knew for certain was that when his past decided to come back and bite him in the ass, it never could pick a more perfect time than after sundown, because that was when people were truly vulnerable.

He knew that ultimately the day would come when he would be faced with all the sins of his past, and those that he still had not committed, and he lived in constant fear of that day arriving. Centuries of experience, he was well trained in never letting on when something was bothering him because he never wanted anybody else to find out. That seemed to be what Richie was trying for now, only he was too young and without enough experience for it to work. He could pretend that nothing was bothering him, but Methos could see through that age old front like a cheap window shade. He knew very well how terrified Richie was because of what had happened, and all the uncertainties that lay before him.

Finally, Methos decided, that all of what lay before both of them could wait until the morning. Perhaps now they could both get an evening of uninterrupted sleep; and the next morning, Methos would figure out what to do with the kid. He looked over to the other bed and saw that Richie was already in a dead sleep; but he decided to make sure, so he slipped out of bed, went over to the boy and talked to him. Richie didn't respond, so Methos felt certain that he'd be safe in making a call back to Seacouver. He pulled his phone out of his bag, dialed the number and waited. It was answered on the third ring.

"_Dawson."_

"Hey Joe, it's me."

"_How are you?"_

"Never better—listen Joe, I ran into somebody tonight."

"_Who?"_

"The boy—don't worry, he's staying with me for the night—I ran into him in town and he was pretty out of it. I'll keep my eye on him for a while."

"_Is he alright?"_

"I think so—mainly he's just exhausted—and upset still about what happened, but we can both understand that I think."

"_It's not good, Methos. I don't know what to do about him."_

"Don't do anything—if Richie's ever going to go back to MacLeod, it'll have to be his own decision."

"_And what if he never does?"_ Joe asked.

"MacLeod pushed Richie away once already, and that was too early—this time he chased the boy away—I don't think it'll be the worst thing to happen if the kid doesn't go back to him for another chance at his head."

Joe was silent on the other end.

"I don't want to think about it happening again either, Joe, but this kid is convinced that it's got to be one way or the other if he ever sees MacLeod again. I can only say so much to him to suggest otherwise. To be completely honest, even _I'm _still not too sure that it won't happen again. I sincerely hope not but maybe it's best if Richie _didn't_ come back for a while."

"_What're you going to do?"_ Joe asked.

"I'll think of something. In the meantime, Richie's safe, he's resting now, and he's got me watching him so for right now I think he'll be alright. I just thought I'd let you know that he's still alive and thus far doesn't seem to be too badly off."

"_I appreciate you letting me know—what time is it over there?"_

"Late enough, I'm going to turn in soon," Methos answered.

"_Okay, goodnight."_

"Goodbye, Joe."

Methos hung up and climbed into his own bed and laid down and closed his eyes to go to sleep.

"Adam?"

He opened his eyes and saw that Richie was awake—slightly.

"What is it, Richie?"

"Well I—I just wanted to say—thanks for doing this—I really appreciate it."

"It's alright, kid, go to bed."

Richie nodded and closed his eyes and laid back down.

And then, a thought came to Methos. "Richie."

"Hmm?"

He didn't say anything for a minute and got out of bed and went over to the other bed. "Goodnight, Richie." He stroked through the boy's hair and added, "I love you."

Richie murmured something of the like in response but was already too far into sleep to be understood.

Well, Methos thought as he went back to his own bed, that was one less regret off his conscience. As he climbed back under the covers, he offered a similar, silent greeting to those he'd lost before in previous lifetimes. As he thought about everything that he'd had to put up with over the 5000 years he'd been alive, he decided it was a wonder he hadn't gone insane yet. It was also a bloody miracle, he knew, that he was even still alive. Lord knew he'd made more than a fair share of mistakes in his own time; some of them so awful they should've cost him his life. And he knew the day would come when he'd have to answer for everything he'd done; but for now he would just go to bed and rest, and hope that by the time his day did come, he would at least have made a dent in trying to set things right both for himself and those who had trusted him.

He looked over once more to the figure fast asleep in the other bed and he knew any way he could help the boy right now was a major priority. This kid wasn't his student, and they weren't close by any means—but Richie _was_ his friend, much as Methos didn't want to admit that. They didn't know each other well at all—hell, Richie didn't even know who he really was. But for that matter, neither had thousands of people he'd encountered over the centuries.

So, when morning came he would help the kid figure out what to do, where to go from here. He knew MacLeod was planning to come to Paris soon, so it would probably be a good idea to convince Richie to relocate to another country soon without letting on as to why. But maybe tonight, he thought as sleep started to take him, for the first time in several weeks, they would both be able to sleep a bit easier. Richie hadn't been able to sleep because he was still caught up in the nightmare of the Dark Quickening that had taken over MacLeod, and he'd been running from it ever since. Methos had had his own reasons for losing sleep. Not long ago, he had lost Alexa and after the time he'd spent with her; no matter how short it was, it left his whole world shaken up and he'd had to get used to sleeping alone again.

Maybe now things could start to get back to normal for the two of them. He sincerely hoped so; he'd been going through this crap for 5000 years and it was starting to get tired. And Richie—he was still very young, and too much of this kind of hell this early on could prove fatal for him. From experience he knew there were too many insane Immortals running around, and it was expected that most of them be very old and everything they'd gone through just came crashing down on them. Not true—most of the insane ones were the young ones who like Richie, became Immortal too soon and had to adapt to too much in order to survive and they just couldn't take it. He didn't want that happening with this kid; whether he would admit it or not, he liked Richie, and he wanted to see the boy stick around to see a nice old age.

He watched Richie sleep for half an hour—then an hour—and it seemed that the boy wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. At least that's what Methos was hoping for as he settled down to sleep himself. Maybe now, he thought, their nightmares would come to an end. Their lives were hellish enough as it was; there was no sense of that hell following them into their sleep every night as well.

The End.


End file.
